


a foe in need

by enamuko



Series: FE Rarepair Week 2k17 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: M/M, but totally consensual, kind of a rivalship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 16:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10167287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enamuko/pseuds/enamuko
Summary: Iago and Gunter have always been at each other's throats. But as they say-- keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Recently I've been exploring more Iago pairings outside of Iago/Corrin, and I thought I'd take a stab at these two after writing a lot of little interactions for them while plotting out the Conquest and Revelations versions of my Iagorrin fic. Rarepair week seemed like the week to do something with it! Prompt is 'Foe'.

                “How is the… _princess_ … coming along in her studies?”

The way the sorcerer speaks of Corrin like she’s a bad taste in his mouth makes Gunter’s blood boil. Then again, most of what Iago does leaves his blood boiling…

“Lady Corrin is advancing well. She’s come a long way from the vacant, quivering child that was handed over to me.” If Iago is bothered in the slightest by the venom or blame in his tone, he certainly doesn’t look it. Above all, he looks bored. Which is more than typical for Iago on one of his rare visits to the Northern Fortress. That he doesn’t look as outright disgusted as he sounds is rare for him.

“His Majesty will be pleased to hear that.” From anyone else it would have sounded a compliment, or at least a statement with no stance. From Iago, it sounds as sharp and biting as any insult. “Though I can’t help but notice that you let her have the run of the place. Don’t you think something resembling _discipline_ might be helpful?”

It would be easy to grow enraged with Iago, to spit insults and threats—but that would just be giving him what he wanted, and Gunter is nothing if not stubborn.

“I wasn’t aware that you had any experience with childrearing,” he says simply, fixing him with a cold stare. “Perhaps King Garon should relegate her to _your_ care, if you feel so strongly about it. Until I hear word from _His Majesty,_ however, I will assume that my work is deemed adequate.”

They stare at each other, neither much willing to back down, until finally Iago sighs.

“Well, I suppose in a cobweb-ridden hole like this, you’ve got more than enough time to waste, but I’m afraid I have work to be taking care of,” he says casually, shouldering past Gunter though there’s plenty of room for both in the wide fortress corridor. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Nothing would bring me greater joy,” he can’t help but add as the sorcerer disappears down the hallway. Iago stops and Gunter wonders if he’ll have something more to say, but he simply makes a disgusted noise and walks away.

A sense of satisfaction washes over him. Not a very nice feeling, perhaps, but then—well, Iago has never been known for bringing out the best in people.

 

               “Hm. Still alive? I have to say, I’m shocked.”

Gunter drags the whetstone over the blade edge ever so slowly, not even bothering to look at him. Iago knows an intimidation tactic when he sees one. Too bad for the aging knight he isn’t intimidated in the slightest.

“I suppose you would have good reason to be.” The slow scrape of the blade makes Iago’s teeth itch from the sound. It might not be enough to scare him off, but if Gunter seeks to annoy him into leaving, perhaps he’s onto something. “You did see our party off to our deaths, after all.”

“Have you finally gone senile, old man? I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh? You mean to tell me you had no idea about Hans’ actions?” He clearly already knows the answer, or at least the one he expects to hear. Iago simply lets out an exasperated sigh.

“If I knew what went through that oaf’s head in the run of a day, I would be a poorer man for it.”

“A hard thing to imagine.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very witty. Sense of humor must be one of the things that starts to go as the mind does.” As quick as the banter comes, Iago can’t help but find himself bothered by Gunter’s words. “Hans claims that you were ambushed by Hoshidan soldiers. Hence why you didn’t return.”

“Don’t play the fool, Iago. You may be a monster, but a simpleton you aren’t.” Gunter snorts, rises to his feet, and fixes a cold stare on him. “I can’t imagine Hans coming up with such a plan on his own.”

“ _What_ are you _talking_ about?” He’d been joking about the senility—Gunter is old, but his mind is as sharp as the blade he’s holding. Not as smart as himself, certainly, but smart enough to be dangerous.

“Hans attacked me at the Bottomless Canyon. I was… left for dead. _That_ is why I did not return.” Gunter speaks like he’s repeating himself to a child who should know better, but Iago is stunned—not by Hans’ actions, but by the fact that he’s never heard of such a thing before this.

Gunter must see something in his face, because the knight’s eyebrows go from angrily furrowed to raised in surprise. “You didn’t know? Hm. Perhaps you’ve finally managed to outlive your usefulness. I do wonder how long it will be before you find yourself like me… now that Garon clearly doesn’t need you any longer.”

Iago flinches like he’s been struck. It’s not as though he thinks Gunter is right—he has far from outlived his usefulness. But it does… _worry_ him that he didn’t know the true details of the mission. He had always been Garon’s right hand.

The way Gunter looks at him with a self-satisfied smirk makes it easy for him to regain his composure, if only so he can wipe that look off his face.

“I would be careful who you say such things to. Someone might begin to think you treasonous. And that could only reflect poorly on your already suspect liege.” There; now his face is back to the usual stern frown that Iago is sure is the cause for all those wrinkles. “And just know—”

He sweeps past Gunter, shouldering him out of the way as he always does.

“If I had wanted you dead, you would be dead now. I have smarter ways of taking care of people than setting a hairless ape like Hans on them.”

Gunter grunts, whether in frustration or acknowledgement (or perhaps a bit of both) Iago can’t tell. “…Duly noted. But don’t expect me to go quietly. I may not aspire to be as vicious and underhanded as you, but when it comes to Lady Corrin, I will do anything at my disposal to protect her and achieve her goals.”

Iago laughs. “Perhaps you and I aren’t as different as you think, Gunter. Ruminate on that for a while.”

“…I’ll try not to.”

 

               “What are you waiting for? Just kill me already and get it over with.”

Under normal circumstances, were an enemy to say that to him—a true enemy, not simply someone who Garon has pointed him at and told him to kill—Gunter would have no trouble obliging. But he finds his axe grip faltering, and he doesn’t find the strength in him to swing.

“Why would a coward like you be so eager to give up his life? I would have expected you to be begging for mercy.” He still holds the sharp of the blade to Iago’s throat, to remind him of the seriousness of the situation should he get any ideas about going for his dropped tome.

“I wouldn’t want to waste my breath.” Iago has never looked at him with anything less than complete disdain, but his expression now is something completely different. The hate in his eyes isn’t cool and hidden behind a veneer of self-satisfaction and smugness; it’s raw and red hot, screwing up his face into something almost unrecognizable. “I already know how you feel about me.”

“My feelings are irrelevant.” He can think of a hundred valid reasons to cleave Iago’s head from his shoulders then and there, not the least being how dangerous an enemy he is. He even doubts that Corrin would have anything to say against it, no matter how much she opposes violence. But for some reason he hesitates. For some reason…

“Do you not have it in you anymore, old man? Can’t even keep your blade properly sharpened, can you? It’s no wonder Garon decided you needed to be taken care of.”

“Trying to goad me into ending your life isn’t going to change the situation.” If anything, it makes his hesitation even more powerful. Why would Iago be so eager to die? He can’t understand it… “It’s not my place to make that decision—your life rests in Lady Corrin’s hands.”

“Perhaps if _you_ had a mind of your own, we could be done and over with this already.” The bitterness in Iago’s words isn’t directed at him, not really, even though he’s the man with a blade at his throat. Gunter thinks he understands why the tactician was so eager to throw himself on the chopping block—though the level of fanatical devotion Iago aspires to is nothing short of pathetic. Better to die in battle than to sit around and wait to be declared useless. Gunter can’t see the appeal… not entirely. But he has no desire to be Iago’s easy way out.

“After all you’ve done, I have no doubt you’ll get your wish soon enough,” he says as he kicks Iago’s tome away before putting up his axe. “There’s a limit to even Lady Corrin’s forgiveness, after all.”

 

               It turns out that limit is not so easy to find as Gunter had assumed, because try as he might, he’s still here. Iago surveys the battlefield a comfortable distance behind the front lines—though closer than he would like. Of course, he’s not the one in charge any longer…

An enemy soldier breaking from the main battle charges for him and Iago blasts him casually away with his tome. Like swatting flies, really—he finds the whole engagement more irritating than dangerous. Having to leave the enemy soldiers alive as per Corrin’s decree adds challenge, though not the kind of challenge he revels in. Still, better than rotting in a prison cell…

Corrin leads their charge, of course, swapping between swinging her sacred blade and charging through the enemy in dragon form as the battle demands. Her soldiers follow her with zeal—all the more reason for Iago to keep his distance. They group mostly together, taking advantage of strength in numbers, watching each other’s backs—

Something between a war cry and the sound of a wounded animal draws his attention from the main group. There is one other like himself who choses to stay away from Corrin’s merry band—Gunter’s horse rears up in the face of the lancer who has tried to dismount him as the aging knight struggles to regain control.

In any other circumstance, it would be of no concern—they are both away from the main battle, where few enemy soldiers have strayed, and though he snipes at Gunter for his age he knows he can more than handle himself. No concern at all—if not for the enemy sniper who has him in his sights.

He’s drawing the power from his tome and hurling it at the sniper before he can even think about it. He’s hated Gunter as long as he’s known the man, and _oh_ how easy would it be to simply let him die at the hands of an enemy he should have seen coming from a mile away…

The shearing winds of Excalibur send the enemy’s arrow flying wildly off course, and the sniper in question doesn’t fare much better. Iago doesn’t bother to hold back—surely Corrin will understand that ‘accidents’ happen.

Gunter’s horse rears back again, sensing the danger to its master so close at hand. With the lancer dispatched the old knight _finally_ takes notice of how close he came to death. When he looks around to find who came to his rescue, their eyes meet.

“Iago— _you_ saved me?” Iago can’t blame him for sounding surprised. He’s not sure why he did it himself.

“Save your breath, old man. You only have so many of them left, and you clearly aren’t doing much to extend that.” Iago casually dusts off his sleeve, though he’s careful to keep his tome close at hand. The battle isn’t exactly over, after all. “I’m sure you’ll think of some way to thank me.”

“ _That_ will be the day.” Gunter’s stern expression returns, but his eyes aren’t nearly as harsh as Iago is used to. “But the least I can do is return the favor and keep you alive for this battle. Come along, _tactician_ —let’s join the front lines.”

Iago snorts. “If this is how you thank me, remind me to never save your life again.” He regards the hand Gunter offers him with natural suspicion, but after a moment’s hesitation allows him to lift him onto the back of his horse.

“Hyah!” Gunter charges forward without any warning, nearly knocking Iago off the back of the horse—he steadies himself only by holding on to Gunter for dear life, which makes the knight laugh.

“You did that on purpose, you senile old—” He’s cut off mid-sentence by another lurch that nearly sends him to the ground, a cry catching halfway in his throat.

“I would save your breath, Iago. I’m certain you’ll have much more cowardly screaming to do in the near future.”

“That settles it—the next time you’re inevitably about to get yourself killed, I _won’t_ be saving you.”


End file.
